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I'm contemplating a line from a poem posted by Jama last Friday: "all these golden losses." For children this season is one of plenty, of chills, thrills and anticipation, but we adults can’t help but sense the daily dying. Maybe that’s why so many of us worship at the Halloween altar–-it takes our minds off the inevitable. So here, my middle-aging eye on autumn...

fallen

even the fig tree drops its leaves in naked knowing:slowly the world burns to cold dry ash

Among all the beauty, I must write this time about the pumpkins I have so faithfully nurtured this summer, through drought and so on. They were small, but they were beautiful to watch grow and flourish. Ah, nature!

I had planned to make a beautiful pie,and even the jack o’ lantern will have to wait.Although the net said to leave them longmy pumpkins have suffered a terrible fate.

The fault is those animals that live out of doors,and although we’ve been know to feed thempeanuts and corn and all manner of fruit,they’ve taken my pumpkins and eaten ‘em.

We are leaves.Let us lie.Put away the gathering rakeand the green plastic grave.We are neither dead,nor dying.There is worth in us yet.See how we nourish the soil,the worms and the beetles,how we warm the grassand cast a pleasing viewto the observer's eye.We are neither dead,nor dying.We are leaves.Let us lie.

So many things to observe during fall. Thank you for sharing, everyone. My students will be reading your work!

Every year I take my students on a fall walk. We observe the meadow, field, and woods along our school boundary. We note our observations in our writer’s notebooks. When we come back, I ask my students to look through their notebook, then capture the essence of fall in a single sentence.

In subsequent lessons, authors revisit their sentences and discuss the power of action verbs, how to extend ideas with details, personification, analogies, etc. We revise the order over and over to see if there is some way that sounds more poetic. Below are some samples collected through the years from students aged 8 to 11.

A brownish oak leaf lies on the ground with white frost outlining it like lace.

The giant oak tree with the shape of a moon in it waits for fall to be over.

Stepped-on leaves sound like potato chips being eaten.

Dead branches reach out for someone to comfort them.

Fall is a picture no artist can draw.

The berries on the bare bushes look like little red marbles.

A few tiny purple flowers still dot a meadow of brown.

In the half-leafed tree, an abandon bird nest sits.

The leaves are different shapes today than they were yesterday.

The tip of one small leaf is all that remains green on this plant.

This deer that sprinted into the meadow senses us.

In the fallen leaves, a large stump lays, struck by lightning, quiet and still.

As if the muscular wind tore off the leaves, the poor tree looks rippled.

Trees stand very still because that is what trees do sometimes.

This year’s class is writing sentences at this time. I’d be honored, and so would the young authors, if we could present them here and receive your comments. If this thread is not an avenue for this pursuit, my apologies in advance.

John, the sentences lend themselves to creating a class poem! Such beautiful, strong images. Of course, each sentence could also grow into an individual poem. I am experiencing my first fall in many years here in a new state, and your class has captured the experience really well. Thank you!

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